


Putting the "King" in "Matchmaking"

by bitchycountess



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anachronistic Language, Bad Matchmaking, Drinking, Embarrassing Situations, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, I had no beta please be kind to me, M/M, Matchmaking, and everyone who's tired of it, slight sprinklings of canon, slightly cracky, the tale of two oblivious idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-18 00:50:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18109952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitchycountess/pseuds/bitchycountess
Summary: On the one-year anniversary of the destruction of the Ring, the Fellowship gathers in Gondor to celebrate amidst the post-war hardships. Here, the company notices that Gimli and Legolas somehow still haven’t managed to confess their feelings for one another, and they decide that an intervention is in order.





	1. Chapter 1

"This is _torture,"_ Merry said in a low voice. Frodo raised an eyebrow.

"I mean," Merry continued, scandalized, "just look at them! How can they _do_ this to us?"

"Merry," Frodo said, "I’m sure they aren’t doing it to inconvenience us."

"Doesn’t mean that they don’t, though," Merry grumbled, then: "Wait, you said “us”! So you agree?"

"Well," said Frodo cautiously, "it certainly gets a little… tiresome to watch after a while."

Ahead of them, Legolas and Gimli continued riding towards Minas Tirith on one horse, oblivious to Merry’s ire. There was a fallen log in front of them on the road, and Legolas made the horse jump over it instead of going around; Gimli clung to his waist so tightly as they did so that it was bordering on impropriety. As they landed, Legolas laughed and reached back to squeeze the dwarf’s arm around his waist, lingering _just_ a second too long. Gimli’s laughter soon joined his to echo through the trees.

Merry groaned.

"Scandalous, I’m telling you. Why don’t they just kiss and get on with it already?"

"Now, now, Mr Merry," Sam joined in, "I’m sure they have their reasons. Besides, how do you know that they haven’t already?"

"Nonsense," said Merry. "If they’d be married in the elven way, we would be able to tell."

"What’s “married in the elven way” mean, Mr Frodo?" Sam asked. Frodo debated internally for a second, then steered his pony next to Sam’s and leaned over to whisper in his ear.

By the time he leaned back, Sam was beet red up to the roots of his hair.

"I was referring to _courting!"_ he whispered fiercely, going even redder. Frodo laughed, and Sam’s heart throbbed painfully at the sound – it wasn’t something he often heard these days.

"They are not courting each other," Merry said, steering Sam’s thoughts back to their conversation. "Legolas said that he hoped Gimli starting a family soon won’t stop them from seeing each other as often as possible. Does that sound like courtship to you?"

"When did he say that?" Frodo asked, surprised.

"Two days ago at the inn," said Merry smugly. "I asked him how their friendship fares, because let me tell you, I’d had enough of seeing these two blush and laugh and touch each other all the time. I thought I would get better news, but… alas."

Frodo frowned.

"What are we talking about?" asked Pippin, who until now had been a few paces behind.

"About Gimli and Legolas’s undying love for each other," said Merry.

"Oh, that," Pippin said. "I wonder how long they’ve been sleeping together?"

"Mr Pippin!" yelped Sam, going red again.

"We’re just discussing how they definitely aren’t sleeping together," Merry said.

Pippin scoffed. "Nonsense." He spurred his pony, and was soon between the hobbits’ group and Legolas’s horse.

"Hey, Legolas!" he yelled, and Legolas turned around. Merry and Frodo looked at each other in horror.

"Pippin, NO," Merry hissed.

"Pippin, yes," was the reply. Then, to Legolas: "So how long have you and Gimli been sleeping together?"

Legolas went pale, Gimli went red, and Frodo didn’t quite know whether to laugh or cry. Beside him, Sam looked scandalized, and Merry seemed to be fighting a losing battle with laughter.

"I’m not— we didn’t— I’ve never slept with anyone ever," Legolas spluttered. ‘Not that it’s your... I mean, why do you even... Gimli, _help._ "

"Peregrin Took, if you were a little bit closer I would hit you with the butt of my axe!" Gimli roared. "What kind of question is that?!"

Pippin looked hurt. "Oh, come on, I just thought…"

"I beg to differ," said Legolas icily. "Clearly you were not thinking before you opened your mouth. Come, Gimli, we should not listen to such talk." And with that, he spurred their horse and was away before Pippin could reply.

The hobbits watched incredulously as Gimli and Legolas quite literally rode away into the sunset together. Pippin returned to their group with a perplexed expression.

"That," said Merry, "was beautiful, Pip. Just outstanding. Delicate as always."

"Well," replied Pippin, " _s_ _omeone’s_ got a bee in his bonnet. Although I don’t understand why."

"I guess this confirms your theories, Merry," Frodo chimed in, looking thoughtful. "It doesn’t look like they’re together after all."

"But that’s no good," said Pippin. "You can’t just go around repressing your feelings. It’s unhealthy."

"I think we should just leave them alone," said Sam, looking uncomfortable.

 _"Unhealthy_ , Sam," Pippin repeated.

"I don’t say this a lot, but Pippin is right," Merry said. "It looks like some… intervention is required."


	2. Chapter 2

Aragorn watched the approaching figures of Legolas and Gimli at the gate of the citadel, and didn’t even bother raising an eyebrow. Of course they would arrive together… and on the same horse. Of course.

“Welcome, my friends,” he greeted them, smiling, when they passed the gate. Legolas greeted him in turn, and dismounted; then he helped Gimli down, handling the sturdy dwarf like fine porcelain. Gimli’s hands seemed to linger on the slender elf even when he was on the ground; Aragorn cleared his throat. They sprang apart.

“Good to see you again, laddie,” said Gimli as Aragorn embraced them both. “Are we the first to arrive?”

“Gandalf has been here for two days now,” replied Aragorn. “And I assume that the hobbits are arriving soon.”

“Aye, we met with them in Edoras as we came,” Gimli said. “They should be here in a little while.”

Aragorn couldn’t help but notice that Legolas went pink at the mention of the hobbits. What the…?

“Did something happen between you on the way here?” he asked the elf gently. Legolas bristled.

“Nothing at all,” he replied, a little too loud. “Gimli, I don’t know about you, but I am weary.” He gave Aragorn a meaningful look.

“Of course,” said Aragorn. “Come, let’s go to your rooms.”

 

“You want us to do _what?_ ” Aragorn asked an hour later, sitting at a small table surrounded by hobbits, and already nursing a headache.

Finally, everyone from the Fellowship was in Gondor, and Aragorn naively thought at first that their planned little celebration of the one-year anniversary of Sauron’s defeat could finally begin. But he just couldn’t put the whole company in the same room, no matter how hard he tried. Gandalf had disappeared in the city in the morning, and Aragorn had been trying to chase him down all day before Gimli and Legolas had arrived; and by the time the hobbits trundled into the city on their ponies, the dwarf and the elf were gone off to somewhere too. It was like herding cats.

And when the hobbits did arrive, Aragorn had barely led them into the citadel when they all turned to him, as if on cue.

“We have a very important thing to discuss with you,” Pippin declared, and Aragorn blinked.

“Maybe it could wait until dinn–” he began, before eight small hands seized the King of Gondor and began to drag him towards the nearest empty room.

“Arwen, _help_ ,” Aragorn called to his wife standing nearby next to a stone column. “I’m being assailed!”

Arwen was too busy leaning on the column and laughing hard to answer. She even waved a little to Aragorn as the hobbits nudged and pulled him away from her. Treachery!

“Actually,” said Merry, stopping in his tracks, “perhaps it’s better if the Queen is with us as well.”

Arwen rolled her eyes.

“Just Arwen, Merry, _please_ ,” she said, but followed their group.

And so they ended up huddled together in a small council room of sorts, with the hobbits proposing to the King and Queen of Gondor the second most ridiculous plan Aragorn had ever heard (the first one had happened long ago, and involved a loaf of bread, lots of throwing knives and a flock of geese).

“Come on,” Merry replied to Aragorn. “I can _not_ stomach another dinner with Gimli making goo-goo eyes at Legolas over a mug of ale.”

“Or Legolas staring at Gimli and then looking away exactly when Gimli turns to look at him,” Pippin said.

“Or the two of them counting their kills in every. Single. Battle,” Merry spoke again.

“The point is,” Frodo interjected, “we need to do something about these two before they drive us all insane. And we need your help.”

Aragorn glowered at him.

“Um,” said Frodo in a small voice, “please?”

“Perhaps it would be better for us not to meddle in the love affairs of our friends,” Arwen said gently. “Have you not thought of that?”

“With all due respect, Quee– Arwen,” Merry said, “you’re only saying that because you’ve never seen Gimli, son of Glóin, Lord of the Glittering Caves, look at Legolas and blush like a fourteen year-old girl.”

Arwen stared at him, then began to giggle.

“Sorry,” she muttered to Aragorn, who was looking at her with a raised eyebrow, “I pictured it…”

“All right,” said Aragorn, “let’s say that I condone this idea of yours… which I do not, by the way,” he added with another glare. “How should we do it, then?”

“Lock them in a small room for a day?” Pippin offered.

“Pippin. _No_ ,” Frodo said, wide-eyed.

“Why, it worked for me and Susie Gardner when we got stuck in her dad’s attic,” Pippin said indignantly.

“Pippin,” said Merry, also wide-eyed. “I don’t think Arwen wants to hear about you and Susie Gardner.”

Arwen laughed.

“Perhaps another time,” she said. She turned to Aragorn, and his heart sank as he saw the all-too-familiar Look of Mischief in her eyes. “Maybe a little nudge in the right direction could be helpful. If it is indeed such a grave situation as our friends say.”

“Arwen. _No,_ ” began Aragorn, only to be interrupted by Gandalf’s voice coming from the doorway:

“What’s all this, then?”

Before Aragorn could open his mouth to give the wizard an earful for his day-long absence, Pippin spoke:

“Gandalf! Hello! We need a man of reason– ow, Frodo, why did you kick me?”

Gandalf raised an eyebrow at Aragorn, who shook his head helplessly. Arwen was of no help - she was grinning widely at him, eyes still sparkling.

Then, out of the blue, Sam spoke.

“Mr Frodo and Mr Merry and Mr Pippin decided that we need to do something about Mr Legolas and Mr Gimli,” he said, then shut his mouth, looking flustered.

“Do what, exactly?” Gandalf asked.

“Make them end up together, somehow, before everyone around them goes insane from all the longing looks,” Merry summarized, and Gandalf frowned.

“You mean to meddle with the friendship of our companions, and wade in the dangerous waters of matchmaking for your own comfort?” he asked, and looked hard at Merry, who somehow seemed to shrink under his gaze. “This is an incredibly foolish idea, Meriadoc - no, all of you,” he said, and suddenly all the hobbits became very interested in the patterns of the stone floor.

Then, Gandalf closed the door behind him, took a chair from the table, and sat down amongst them.

“Tell me more,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying this story - the really silly part's about to begin.  
> Tell me what you think so far!


	3. Chapter 3

“Gandalf, not you,” Aragorn said, horrified. Just when he thought he’d found an ally against this madness…

Gandalf smiled at him.

“Sometimes a little meddling is needed to set people on the right road, Aragorn,” he said. “Have I told you how I got the dwarves to Bilbo's house…”

“Yes, Gandalf, you’ve told us,” Frodo said hastily.

“Several times,” Pippin added.

“In detail,” Merry finished.

Gandalf looked deflated. “All right, you’ve made your point… Well, as long as no one is coerced into anything they wouldn’t do otherwise, I will help you with your schemes.” He briskly clapped his hands together. “So, what is our plan?”

There was a silence. It was uncomfortable.

“We… kind of haven’t gotten that far yet,” Frodo admitted.

“I still say we could lock them in a small r-”

“Pippin, _no_.”

“Perhaps we should start with something small,” Arwen offered. The rest of the company turned to look at her. “Just a little nudge, as I’d said before.”

“Do you have anything in mind?” Merry asked.

“Well,” Arwen said, deep in thought, “there is something we could try. I know a plant whose elvish name translates into _lovers’ bloom_ , and it’s supposed to give you dreams of the one you love. It doesn’t make you... do anything,” she added hastily, “just dream. Perhaps it would help Gimli and Legolas acknowledge their feelings for one another if we gave them some of this plant.”

“I don’t like that this is where we’re starting,” Aragorn muttered. Gandalf, however, seemed excited.

“An excellent idea, my lady. Do you have any of this plant on hand?”

“No, but it does grow on mountainsides,” Arwen replied.

There was another silence. Aragorn suddenly realized that everyone was now looking at him expectantly.

“What?” he asked, startled.

Gandalf didn’t say anything, just raised an eyebrow. Pippin drummed on the table with his fingers. Arwen turned to her husband, put a hand on his arm, and unleashed a full-force Beautiful Elven Pleading Look on him. He could feel those deep blue eyes pulling him in…

...and pulling…

...and pulling.

“All right, _fine_ ,” he said. “I’ll go and try to find the plant for you.” He turned to the hobbits with a sour look. “You’re the food experts here. What do you propose, how do we give it to them?”

“We don’t need to do that, actually,” Arwen said quickly. “It’s a medicinal plant as well - best not put it in food or drink. But if we rub some of it on their bedsheets, the scent should make them dream.”

“Perfect, so we have a plan,” Merry said, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied look. “When do we carry it out?”

“We can start tonight,” Aragorn said. “I’ll…” He sighed. “I’ll slip out sometime during dinner and get some lovers’ bloom.”

As wizard and hobbits filed out of the small room, chattering excitedly, Aragorn leaned his forehead against the wall and sighed.

“Remind me again why I ended up agreeing to this,” he said to Arwen. There definitely wasn’t a slightly whiny tone to his voice. Not even a little. Nope.

Arwen smiled and gently squeezed his shoulder.

“Because you love your friends and your wife very much?” she offered.

Aragorn wearily smiled back at her. “Yes. Yes, I do. Also, I am completely helpless against that look - you know the one.” He paused. “Do it again.”

Arwen laughed.

***

Aragorn woke early to a radiant morning. Fresh air came in through his bedroom windows, together with the slanted rays of the sun and the soft sounds of the awakening city.

Next to him, Arwen was breathing slowly, still deep in sleep. Her dark hair covered Aragorn’s shoulder, gleaming softly in the morning light, and there was a ghost of a smile on her lips. Aragorn looked at his sleeping wife, and his heart was squeezed almost painfully by the love he felt for her. He leaned down to place a kiss on that pale brow…

“WHAT THE DEVIL IS THIS?!”

...jolted, and fell out of the bed with a thud.

“What the…?” Arwen yelped as she sat up with a jerk, gaze darting around the bedroom.

“ _Ow_ ,” Aragorn said, rubbing his head where he’d hit it against the bedpost. “I think that was Gimli…?”

They looked at each other, then made a dart for the door almost simultaneously. Aragorn reached it first, opened it, and all but fell through to the corridor. He looked around… and gaped.

There was something very pink, rather short, and very, very furious standing in the middle of the corridor. Something which, on closer examination, turned out to be Gimli… but pink. Very pink. Exceedingly pink - and not only because he was flushed with anger.

He was wearing only his breeches, and every single inch of his exposed skin, hair or beard was a vivid, almost floral shade of pink, for reasons that only the Valar knew. Or perhaps, Aragorn thought with a sinking heart, not just them.

“I think we may have made a small mistake,” he muttered to Arwen, who came to a halt next to him.

“Aragorn!” Gimli yelled when he saw them. “What in the hell is happening?!”

Other doors opened on the corridor. Aside from some very surprised servants, the members of the Fellowship were also roused by Gimli’s shouting. First Legolas, then Gandalf, and finally the hobbits made their appearance, gaping as well at the colorful dwarf. At least Legolas, thank Manwë for small mercies, seemed unaffected by the botanical mishap.

“Hey, Aragorn, what’s this racket…” Pippin, who was the last to appear, yawned in the doorway of his room. Then, as he saw Gimli: “Oh… that’s new. Who dyed Gimli pink?”

“Um,” Aragorn said eloquently. Thankfully, Gandalf came to the rescue.

“This is all on me, I’m afraid,” he said, stroking his beard and shaking his head. “I recommended a new soap to wash the bedsheets with, as it softens them more than regular soap; but it looks like the plants used in it have some… side effects on dwarves. I’m terribly sorry, Gimli.”

He looked almost solemn as he said this, and Gimli’s bewildered anger seemed to diminish.

Then, Pippin giggled.

Aragorn’s shoulders stiffened. He gave the hobbit a warning glare, but Pippin couldn’t stop: he had put both of his hands on his mouth to stifle the noises, and still his snickering could be heard clearly in the corridor. Merry’s face contorted into a very interesting expression with his lips tightly pressed together, but Aragorn could already tell that he was fighting a losing battle. Frodo buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking. Sam studied the ceiling with utmost concentration, and his ears were very red.

“Peregrin Took!” Gimli thundered. “Are you laughing at me?”

“I can’t help it,” Pippin squeaked. “You’re so… _pink!_ ”

And like a dam bursting, he threw his head back and began to laugh. Merry joined in; Frodo turned away, but his shoulders were still quivering. Sam had tears in his eyes, but he was resolutely looking at the ceiling.

“I’ll get you, you young rascals, for laughing at a dwarf!” Gimli roared, and began to chase Merry and Pippin through the corridor, darting between stone columns, still underdressed, and still very, very pink.

It took ages to finally catch everyone and placate Gimli; of course, the “new soap” was loudly denounced by everyone, even if those who took part in the conspiracy couldn’t quite look at each other. After the tempers were finally calm, Gimli was sent away to the bath and the rest of the company to breakfast, with Aragorn and Arwen promising to follow once they were dressed properly.

“If this is an indication of how our matchmaking scheme will go, interesting days are afoot in Minas Tirith,” Aragorn said to Arwen when they finished dressing. “Go on, my love, I have… some things to do.”

“What things?” Arwen asked. Aragorn smiled and kissed her on the cheek.

“Go, I’ll be just a minute,” he said, and although Arwen still looked doubtful, she obliged and left the room.

Once she was gone, Aragorn locked the door behind her and sat down on the bed. Tears began to form in his eyes, and his shoulders shook.

He threw himself back on the bed and laughed until his sides began to ache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to formally apologize to Gimli, son of Glóin, for this chapter.  
> But damn if it wasn't fun to write.


	4. Chapter 4

“Well, that didn’t work,” Pippin summarized.

“That’s putting it mildly,” Aragorn said with a sigh. The members of the conspiracy were again in the council room, having gathered in unspoken agreement after breakfast.

“It might have worked to a degree,” Frodo chimed in. “Legolas seemed deep in thought today – I think he dreamed last night. We might have noticed it earlier, when he came out of his room, if it wasn’t for the… um...”

“Pink dwarf yelling in the middle of the corridor?” Pippin asked.

“...yes, that.”

Pippin started snickering again, until Merry kicked him under the table; then he stopped and glared at his cousin.

“At any rate, we need to start anew,” Gandalf said. “Any suggestions?”

Silence descended. Everyone frowned as they tried to think of a new scheme; finally, Frodo looked around and hesitantly said:

“What about a romantic walk?”

“What do you mean?” Merry asked.

“Well, we – I mean, all of us – could go for a walk somewhere in the city, and then contrive to leave them alone somewhere particularly beautiful.”

“Not a bad idea,” Aragorn said. “There is a public garden on the third level that’s lovely to walk in this time of the year.”

“Perhaps I could help a little, too,” Gandalf said. “I know just the right spells to… enhance the mood, so to speak.”

“Gandalf, I’m not sure I want to know what you mean,” Merry said, and Gandalf grinned.

***

It took a while to find Legolas and Gimli, because they were gone again – off to a weapon shop, as it turned out. When Aragorn and the rest of the company (Gandalf and the hobbits, as Arwen had other duties that day) found them, they were arguing about the quality of elven and dwarven arrowheads. They seemed to have arrived just at the right time: Gimli was red in the face and was gesturing wildly with an arrow, not paying attention to the shopkeeper hiding behind the counter.

“You’ll see when I get home and get to work – I’ll gift you the finest quality dwarven arrowheads you’ve ever seen, elf!” he was saying very loudly when Aragorn and the others arrived. Legolas went almost as red as Gimli at these words, and Aragorn found himself praying to the Valar for patience. He was suddenly a lot less inclined to disapprove of the hobbits’ conspiracy.

“My friends,” he said in the most cheerful voice he could muster, “I was just telling Gandalf and the hobbits about a beautiful place I’ve found in the city. We’re going for a walk – will you not join us?”

“With pleasure,” Legolas replied smoothly, although his ears were still red. “Gimli?”

“Oh, why not,” Gimli said, and gave back the arrow to the shopkeeper. As they walked out of the shop, Aragorn could hear the man heaving a relieved sigh behind their backs.

The garden was rather small, but it _was_ beautiful: young saplings stood between old trees and colorful flower beds, fragrant bushes quivered in the wind, and ivy ran up the looming stone walls that enclosed the round space. In the middle, a small pond glittered in the sun, surrounded by lofty weeping willows. As they stepped in, Legolas breathed deeply and straightened up, as if a weight had rolled off his shoulders; a soft smile played on his lips. Gimli looked up at his friend, whose hair and skin were now glowing with a pale inner fire in the midday sun, and the breath caught in his throat.

Behind his back, Merry made a motion as if to strangle himself. Pippin and Frodo snorted quietly.

“A lovely place indeed, Aragorn,” Gandalf said quickly. “How did you find it?”

“Arwen and I had a few free afternoons before our wedding, and we both wanted to discover the city we were to live in,” Aragorn said. “Minas Tirith was still in bad shape after the war, but a few tranquil corners had survived, as you can see.” He smiled a little as he thought back on those strange, stressful and yet happy early days, lost in the memory.

At least until Gandalf stepped on his foot. When Aragorn gave him a glare, he made a strange sideways movement with his eyes. Aragorn raised an eyebrow at him, at which Gandalf repeated the motion with more force. Aragorn raised his other eyebrow. Gandalf jerked his head sideways.

“Gandalf, is there something the matter with you?” Gimli asked.

“Nothing at all, my friend,” Gandalf replied, glaring at Aragorn. “Just trying to work out a kink in my neck.”

“Can we go back?” Frodo suddenly said in a strained voice behind them. “I feel… kind of weakened by the walk.”

Aragorn turned back, worried, but to his relief, Frodo winked a little at him when their gazes locked.

“Oh,” he said. “Yes, certainly. Actually, I have to go back too, I have… um… kingly duties to attend to.”

“Back we go, then,” Gimli said with a sigh, and all the conspirators opened their mouth to protest. Frodo hastily cut across:

“No, no, not at all – you and Legolas should stay. I can tell you like the garden.”

“But laddie, if you’re sick...”

“I’m fine, just a little too much sun. Seriously, go on, don’t let us spoil your enjoyment.” Frodo gave Gimli a stern look, which was both amusing and surprisingly effective from someone as small as he. Gimli shrugged, although he still looked worried.

“If you say so… Should we go on, Legolas?”

Legolas was looking at the conspirators a little strangely, but thankfully, he didn’t protest. “If you wish so, my friends. I would certainly like to enjoy this place a little longer.”

“It’s settled, then,” Gandalf said. “We will meet later in the palace, I suppose.”

They took their goodbyes, and the company split in two: Legolas and Gimli went to admire the pond, and the rest of them turned back towards the garden’s entrance…

...only to crouch down in the shadows of the nearest shrubbery once they were out of sight.

“Are you all right, Mr Frodo?” Sam asked when they were settled on the grass. Frodo smiled at him and gently squeezed his hand.

“It was just an excuse, Sam – I’m fine, don’t worry.”

Sam blushed and nodded.

“Anyway,” Pippin cut in, “what do we do now?”

“Why, we follow them, of course,” Gandalf said matter-of-factly. “Gather around me, I will disguise us.”

Aragorn gave him a doubtful look, but obligingly scuttled closer to the wizard. Gandalf murmured a few words at the nearest bush, and it suddenly began to grow, twisting and coiling, surrounding them…

“I hope Frodo really is all right,” Gimli was saying just at that moment to Legolas. “He looked weary when we were traveling here.”

“He had suffered long,” Legolas replied. “One year might not be enough to recover from such strain – and the journey here was long enough, besides.”

“Aye, that is true. I wonder if this gathering of ours had been such a good idea, after all...”

“Would you rather we were not here?”

“That’s not what I said! No, I’m glad to see you all again.”

“Even me?” Legolas laughed. “It’s barely been two months since we last met at that diplomatic meeting.”

“Two months is long enough,” Gimli muttered.

“Beg your pardon?”

Gimli went red. “I’m saying that yes, I’ve missed you too, you dratted elf.”

Legolas laughed again.

“Yes!” said a bush next to them.

Gimli jumped a little and peered at the bush which seemed to have spoken – although of course that was impossible. But then again… he might have seen that same shrub a minute ago on the other side of the pond. Was it… following them?

He shook his head with a little annoyance. The war had left deep enough marks in his soul if he continued to literally see monsters in every bush long after it was over. He went after Legolas, leaving behind the dark thoughts, unfitting for this peaceful, sunny day.

In the bush, Gandalf took his hand off Pippin’s mouth and glared at the hobbit, who at least had the grace to look ashamed.

“We are on the right track, it seems,” he said in a low voice, “or at least we were until _someone_ had to open his mouth.”

“And what do we do now?” Frodo whispered.

“I believe it’s time for those spells I mentioned,” Gandalf said, and rolled back the sleeve of his robe. “Let’s see if I can make the mood a little more romantic.”

The others stared strangely at the wizard, but he didn’t seem to mind; he began to make small gestures with his hand in the air and speaking words in a language no one present could understand. Finally, he stopped and leaned back with a satisfied look.

“There,” he said. “Wait for it.”

Aragorn and the hobbits looked around to see what the wizard had summoned, but nothing appeared in the quiet garden…

...at least until Aragorn sat up suddenly.

“What’s that buzzing?”

“Buzzing...” Gandalf’s face fell. “Oh, Glaurung it.”

“I laugh, but in truth, I’ve missed you too,” Legolas said to Gimli. “Sometimes I think back on the days after battles, celebrating together or sleeping on the ground around a campfire, and I find myself wishing I could go back, just for a little while. It’s not the war I miss, of course, but… something, all the same.”

“I think I know what you mean,” Gimli said, not quite looking at Legolas. “I feel the same.”

A fragile silence descended between them after these words. They looked into each other’s eyes, and as they did so, the silence seemed to grow full of secret meaning. Gimli found himself shifting uncomfortably, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Legolas’s, and as far as he could tell, the elf also seemed strangely unwilling to do so…

...and then a shout came from across the water.

“Those were supposed to be butterflies!” Gandalf yelled, and ran towards them with his robes hitched up; Aragorn and the hobbits were following closely behind, shouting and cursing.

“What the...” Gimli began to say, before he saw them.

Bees. Hundreds and hundreds of bees.

Angry bees.

“Mahal’s balls!” Gimli bellowed, reaching for his axe instinctively – he might as well have reached for a handful of pond water, for all the good it would do. And then the bees were upon him, and he forgot even his axe. Around him, the others fared no better.

Aragorn was apparently trying to outrun the bees, which would have been an impressive feat in such a small garden – as such, he took to running laps around the pond, his king’s robes fluttering wildly and angry bees following closely behind. Gandalf was gesturing with his staff and yelling – Gimli couldn’t quite decide if he was trying to swat the bees or summon something. Legolas began chanting in elvish, probably trying to calm the bees now crawling all over him, but judging by his painful grimaces, it didn’t quite work. The hobbits were running in circles and shouting curses, except for Sam, who took the simple approach and jumped into the pond.

It was chaos. Complete, utter, beautiful chaos. Gimli, who was now running around with hitched knees amidst the three hobbits (the four of them looking rather like a group of young billygoats jumping around on the lawn), spared a glance towards Legolas. The elf was still covered in bees, and still chanting; the bees were crawling lazily over his face and his body, but none of them seemed to sting anymore.

 _Dratted elf_ , Gimli thought… and then he ran into a tree and he thought nothing more.

***

It was late afternoon when the survivors of the bee attack began trudging back towards the palace, covered in various lumps and bumps from all the bee-stings. Gimli, who had hit his head quite hard, was being carried bridal style by Legolas, despite his loud protests. Aragorn was leading the way, taking them on the emptiest, most deserted side streets he could find, and hiding his face behind the edge of his shirt.

“I still have no idea why the bees were in the garden,” Legolas spoke after a while, deep in thought.

Gimli was gently rocked by each step the elf took, his head reminding him with waves of pain of its brief but intense acquaintance with the tree; it didn’t exactly put him in a better mood. “Or why you folk were in the garden, for that matter,” he added gruffly.

“We sat down on the lawn to rest,” Gandalf said briskly; apparently, he wasn’t much in the mood for conversation. “And as for the bees, I have no idea.” (This, at least, was true.)

Gimli harrumphed, but said no more. After a while, though, something came into his mind.

“Don’t you dare tell anyone that I was carried by an elf!” he yelped suddenly. “I’d never hear the end of it at home!”

Legolas looked down at him, and drat him, his eyes were twinkling with humor.

“Do not worry, Gimli,” he said solemnly, “I will put you down when we arrive.”

“I _sure_ hope you will,” Gimli grumbled. “This is undignified enough as it is...”

“Speaking of undignified,” Aragorn suddenly spoke, “can we never, ever talk about this again?”

On that, at least, they all agreed.


	5. Chapter 5

Gimli was busy looking at himself in the mirror, bare from the waist up, and cursing loudly in Khuzdul when there was a knock on the door.

“May I come in, my friend?” he heard Legolas’s voice from outside.

Gimli stopped cursing out the bee-swarm long enough to yell “Yes!”, then turned back to his reflection and continued assessing the damage. It was bad enough, he had to admit - he looked like someone had tried to fashion his likeness out of warm clay and not quite succeeded. His face and arms had it the worst: they were so swollen with bee-stings that he could barely undress when he had arrived back to his room. He plucked out a stray stinger from next to his nose and let out a particularly colorful profanity at the sensation.

Gimli heard Legolas hissing behind him; from the mirror, he could see that the elf was also looking at his swollen face. He gritted his teeth and smiled painfully, turning around to face Legolas and almost falling over from dizziness. Mahal, but he was starting to hate bees.

“Don’t even tell me, I know I look ravishing,” he said.

Legolas smiled faintly, but he looked worried.

“This is no laughing matter, Gimli,” he said. “How many stings did you take?”

“My lad, if you thought I was counting them, I think you took one too many,” Gimli replied, and Legolas barked out a surprised laugh.

“I see your wits were not affected,” Legolas said and stepped closer. “I bring aid.”

“Oh. What kind?” Gimli asked, and started to look for his clothes. To his surprise, Legolas motioned for him to stop.

“Elvish medicine, from the Queen,” he replied. “A salve to soothe the pain and lessen the effects of the venom.”

“That is welcome indeed,” Gimli said. “I will thank her later for it.” He turned to Legolas and looked at him assessingly. “What about you? Are you all right?”

Legolas smiled. “I’ve already been attended to, and I wasn’t too badly stung,” he said. “But you look like you need some tending to.”

“Which I will do, thank you very much,” Gimli said, and reached for the small bottle of salve which Legolas held in his hand; but the elf didn’t give it to him.

“Will you…” Legolas began, but his voice rasped and he had to start again. “Will you let me administer the treatment?”

Gimli blinked. “You want to do it? Why?”

Was Legolas blushing? “Well, I just thought that you might have been stung in some rather hard-to-reach places, and assistance might be welcomed.” He looked at Gimli, and his eyes shone strangely. “Also, laugh at me if you wish, but I can’t stand by idly while you are in pain - I wish to help somehow, if I can.”

Oh, well. Gimli shrugged and cleared his throat. “Well, if it puts your mind at ease, you can help,” he said. “It’s no great matter between friends, after all.”

“Friends… yes,” was all Legolas said.

Despite this reassurance, Gimli still felt strange when Legolas led him to the bed and they both sat down, so close that their knees were touching. The elf poured some salve on his fingers, and began to cautiously smooth them over Gimli’s forehead, his cheeks, his nose. The effect was instantaneous: where the salve touched Gimli’s skin, a slight, tingling coolness began to spread, easing the itching, burning pain of the stings. Gimli closed his eyes and relaxed into the touch.

He didn’t mean to moan, he would swear it. But when those slender fingers slipped down from his cheeks to his chest, dancing on his skin, almost caressing it, and spreading blessed coolness, he couldn’t help but let a small sound escape his throat.

The elf’s hands left his skin at once, and Gimli caught himself frowning at the sudden lack of contact.

“Is everything all right, _mellon nîn_?” Legolas asked, worry creasing his forehead. “Did I hurt you?”

“‘M fine,” Gimli said in a voice so hoarse that it surprised him. “It… feels good. Please continue.”

And so the elf did, fingers dancing adroitly on the swollen skin, easing the pain everywhere they went. Gimli found himself reacting to the touch, twisting closer, suddenly wishing to touch back, to run his fingers along Legolas’s chest, his neck, his jawline, to sink them into the elf’s fine hair. Their thighs were now touching as well, and Gimli felt the warmth seeping into his skin from the point of contact, balancing out the coolness of the salve on his torso. His back was next, and instead of telling him to turn around, Legolas simply leaned over his shoulder to reach between Gimli’s shoulderblades; his cool breath was ghosting along Gimli’s neck, and he shivered in response. He turned his head just a fraction, his nose now almost touching the elf’s hair, inhaling the scent of it and getting lost in the sensation. He closed his eyes…

...only for them to open, startled, when Legolas leaned back, leaving a vast empty space between the two of them.

“All done,” Legolas announced, sounding indifferent and perhaps a touch amused. “Unless there is somewhere else you would like me to treat?”

“Wha?” was all Gimli could manage, then the question reached his mind. He went red. “Er… no. I’m fine, thank you.” Actually, he had been stung in a few more places… but there was no way on earth he would ask the elf to treat _those_.

“All right,” Legolas said, and stood up from the bed in one smooth motion. “I’ll take my leave now, in that case - I want to check on the others before we go to dinner. I will leave the salve with you, in case you wish to… treat yourself further.”

“Thank you,” Gimli muttered again, not looking up from the deep study of his knees that he was currently conducting. He only raised his head when he heard the door close behind Legolas, and stared almost wistfully into the empty room.

Then he looked back down at his pants, which were now rather tight… and he cursed again in Khuzdul, very, very softly.


	6. Chapter 6

“So…” Merry said the next day, breaking the awkward silence in the council room. “I can’t help but think that we went wrong somewhere.”

“Whatever makes you say _that_?” Aragorn, who was _almost_ looking normal again, muttered.

“Sarcasm isn’t going to help, your Majesty,” Merry replied.

Aragorn smiled wearily and shook his head. “No, you’re right,” he said. “Although I think the ideas were good - we just seem to be having extraordinarily bad luck.” He sighed and looked at the conspirators, who, despite the elvish medicine and the careful tending-to done by a certain Queen of Gondor (who looked torn between concern and laughter every time she looked at them), still sported some evidence of yesterday’s bee-bombardment.

“Well, we can’t exactly start all over again,” Gandalf said with a sigh. “We just have to keep coming up with new schemes until one of them succeeds.”

“We’re definitely stopping with the spells, though,” Merry said. “Next time you might summon a pack of wolves instead of bees.”

“I’d rather have the wolves, if I can choose,” Sam muttered darkly, and sneezed - on top of everything, he had caught a cold from jumping into the pond.

Gandalf shot them both a glare, but didn’t answer.

“You know,” Frodo began, a little uncomfortable from the tension in the room, “maybe we _should_ start over.”

“What do you mean?” Aragorn asked.

“Well,” Frodo replied, “the way I see it, we have only failed so far because there was an unknown element in our plans. We didn’t know that lovers’ bloom dyes dwarves pink, and we definitely didn’t know that Gandalf was going to summon the wrath of nature on us.”

Gandalf kept on glaring, but still didn’t speak.

“So,” Frodo continued. “Maybe we should try some more familiar methods - something that we’ve done before.” He turned to the company. “Do you have any methods of romancing someone that you’ve used successfully?”

Pippin opened his mouth immediately, and was shushed by Merry just as quickly. Gandalf shook his head.

“I don’t exactly do romance,” he pointed out.

Frodo had the mental image of his old friend trying to woo a young maiden, and shuddered. “Someone who does do romance, then,” he said.

Arwen looked at Aragorn, and raised a delicately arched eyebrow. The two of them traded a long glance - then, Aragorn went red.

“We are _not_ doing that, Arwen,” he said hastily.

“Of course not,” Arwen said, her ageless eyes sparkling with mirth. “I just wanted to remind you that it happened.”

Aragorn went even redder, and the rest of the company began pricking up their ears at the strange exchange.

“Remind him of what, exactly?” Merry asked, forgetting about the actual topic of the conversation.

“Nothing, just a little memory from our courtship,” Arwen said airily. Then she leaned closer and half-whispered to Merry: “Ask me again when he’s not around.”

Aragorn bristled.

“Arwen, _no_ ,” he began, before Frodo clapped once to get their attention again.

“Hello, trying to scheme here?” he said, and the others obligingly turned back towards him. “No offense, Arwen.”

“None taken, you are right,” Arwen said, smiling.

“So… what _are_ we going to do?” Frodo asked.

Everyone frowned.

“Well…” Gandalf began.

“No,” Merry said.

Gandalf glowered at him. “You didn’t even let me speak, Meriadoc.”

“Was your idea going to involve spells?” Merry asked.

“...maybe.”

“Then the answer is no.” Merry looked at the company a little helplessly. “Anyone else?”

“What if we just got drunk together?” Sam said.

“What do you mean?” Aragorn asked him, eyebrows raised.

“Well, we’ve been planning to have a celebration anyway, and some good strong drink might loosen their tongues a little.”

“Or ours,” Aragorn said. “We might end up confessing the entire conspiracy to them. No, Sam, I can see where you’re coming from, but I’d rather not use this strategy unless we really had to.”

The frowns deepened.

“Drat, but this is hard,” Sam summarized. “Maybe we should sleep on it? We might come up with something by tomorrow.”

Aragorn shrugged. “I can’t see why not - I have some matters of the state to attend to, anyway.”

“Tomorrow, then,” Gandalf said, and stood up with an air of finality. The company began to file out of the room, but there was a sort of unsatisfied mood about them - their scheme just didn’t want to go right, it seemed.

***

It wasn’t until later that evening that Aragorn, head bent over his desk and busy with paperwork, suddenly sat up straight.

“Yes! I’ve got it!” he whispered to no one in particular… and then continued filling out the papers, because he couldn’t leave his job yet.

But he did make a mental note to get the conspirators together as soon as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a fun game: try to guess what Arwen reminded Aragorn of.  
> Also, "bee-bombardment" is my new favorite word.


End file.
